


Silenced

by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Whumptober 2019 [28]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Angst, Bullying, Gen, Rescue, Slurs, Whumptober 2019, hand trauma, happyish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: CJ is filming alone when he's approached by a group and asked for directions. Things take an awful turn once they realize, to their disgust, that CJ is mute.Whumptober Day 28: Beaten





	Silenced

**Author's Note:**

> Oof, parts of this fic were hard to write. Like, physically hard to make myself type some of the stuff the people in this story say. I'm not mute so I don't know if any of this is remotely realistic, but I at least tried to make sure that the situation was treated with the gravity it requires in a narrative sense. Also, if it's not already clear, the r-slur is used in this fic several times, so be aware of that.
> 
> That said, I hope you get something out of this story, be it entertainment or anything else.

It’s a fun, peaceful afternoon at first.

Cameraman Jim convinced Reporter Jim to use the day to report a “human interest” story; that is, something pleasant and sweet as opposed to something creepy or complicated. RJ didn’t want to at first (“Those are boring, CJ! The people want _ghosts!!”_), but eventually relented and even seemed to be having a good time. The pair went to a park to film the joggers and the dogs being walked, but mostly to report on the new patch of flowers near the center of the space. By the time the Jims actually got there, having been constantly distracted by dogs and people and squirrels (“Do you think they know Squirrel Jim?”), RJ had needed to double back for a bathroom, leaving CJ to start filming and photographing the flowers alone.

CJ doesn’t mind filming alone. It’s a bit nice to get absorbed in his subject and take in the scenery. He catches sight of a bumblebee flitting among the blossoms and begins following it with his camera, filming the little creature as it collects pollen from the brightest flowers. CJ does his best not to scare the bee away; keeping the camera a reasonable distance away and relying on zooming in the lenses to get a good shot. He didn’t bring the huge news camera that necessitates a tripod, only his smaller video camera, kept around his neck with a strap. It’s easy to follow the bee around film its journey until it flies away into the blue sky.

_“Bye!”_ CJ can’t help signing to it as it goes.

“Hey!” someone suddenly asks.

CJ jumps a little, startled, and turns to look at who spoke. It’s a man with what appear to be a couple friends. They look a little rough around the edges, with stained jackets and face tattoos and unkempt stubble, but CJ’s never been one to judge. He tilts his head questioningly.

“What’s the way to the bike shop from here?” the man who got CJ’s attention asks.

CJ pauses. He knows roughly where it is; he remembers seeing it on the way into the park, and he remembers where he and RJ entered, so he can direct them accordingly. Except…there’s a pretty good chance they don’t know sign. Most humans CJ encounters don’t. Still, he doesn’t want to be rude, so he lets his camera hang loose around his neck as he responds.

_“Do you know sign?”_ he asks, mouthing the words as the signs them. All three men get incredulous looks on their faces.

“What the hell?” asks the man to the right, with longer hair than the other two.

“What are you doing with your hands?” asks the man to the left, who’s wearing an old beanie.

CJ cringes, halting his hands. He doesn’t run into people like this very often, but usually he has RJ with him as support when he does. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but it might take him a while.

_“I can’t talk,”_ CJ mouths, nervously twiddling his fingers. A moment later, his face lights up with an idea. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens up the notepad app, and starts typing the directions out. The sooner he gives these guys directions the sooner they’ll leave.

“Don’t deaf people talk sometimes?” the first man scoffs, “Can’t you just talk instead of typing?”

_“I’m not deaf,”_ CJ mouths, cheeks starting to turn red, _“I just can’t talk.”_ He starts typing faster.

“Fucking speak up, weirdo,” growls the man in a beanie. CJ ducks his head further into his phone.

“He said he ain’t deaf,” says the long-haired man, “He’s…he’s a mute, I think? That’s what they’re called, right?”

“Oh, so he’s retarded, then,” the first man says, as though he’s cracked some mystery.

CJ’s throat burns with a held-back sob. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. He puts his phone away and turns to leave. He’ll catch up with RJ later, but he can’t stay around these people another moment longer.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going!?” yells the first man. “You were gonna give us directions!”

“Aww, I think we hurt the freak’s feelings,” laughs the long-haired man.

“Nah, he’s probably not smart enough to have his feelings hurt,” the man with the beanie says, “Wonder what he’s doing out unsupervised? Don’t these people normally have handlers?”

CJ walks faster, but to his horror, the group starts to follow him.

“Turn around, freak! Just give us the fucking directions!!”

“You sure he ain’t deaf? He’s sure acting like he can’t hear us.”

“Nah, he can hear us, he’s just being difficult.”

“Hey…maybe we ought to teach him a lesson.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Hey, wait up, retard, we’re talking about you!”

Jims are quick by nature, but the men are too close, and CJ doesn’t have enough of a head start. He doesn’t know which one grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back, he doesn’t know which one grabs his arm to keep him still, but he knows it’s the first man, the one who started this whole thing, who pulls CJ’s camera from around his neck and raises it over his head. CJ pales and shakes his head furiously. _Not my camera, please, not my camera!_

“Aw, it’s trying to communicate,” laughs the man with the beanie, digging his nails into CJ’s arm and making him yelp.

“Hey, did you hear that??” asks the long-haired man, “It can make noise after all!”

“Alright then,” says the first man, still holding CJ’s camera over his head, “Just tell us to stop and leave you alone, then. If you do, we’ll be on our way. That’s all you have to do, freak.”

And CJ tries, he _tries_. He’s capable of speech, he knows how to talk, but his voice rarely wants to come out. He can only ever talk when things are calm, when he feels perfectly happy and secure, when he’s with someone he trusts deeply. He can’t talk now, he can’t talk like this. But he tries, he tries to force a word out, tries to say _no_ or _stop_ or _please_ but anxiety and fear tighten his throat and his larynx stays still.

The first man shrugs, lowering CJ’s camera.

“Well, we gave you the chance.”

CJ expects the man to throw his camera down and break it against the pavement path. He’s blindsided when the man raises his arms again and hits him in the face with his own camera, snapping his head to the side and making him bite his tongue. It might have cracked a tooth, it certainly bruised his cheek, and blood fills his mouth from his tongue.

After that, they shove him down to kick him, and CJ loses track of blows. The sobs he tried to hold back before come out in full force, and the kicks make him gasp and scream in pain. Somehow no other people in the park happen to pass by, or they do but just don’t care. CJ doesn’t know; he keeps his eyes closed and his face covered to protect from blows. But he still catches a kick to the face that makes pain explode in his right eye. They mock him every time he yelps and screams, and eventually pause to laugh at him as he lays on the ground, struggling to get up.

“You fucking liar!” the man in the beanie cackles, “You can make plenty of noise!”

“He’s retarded, remember?” the long-haired man says, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “He can screech like a fucking banshee but he still can’t talk.”

_“Please, please, please,”_ CJ begs, mouthing and signing, over and over.

“God, enough with the stupid hand shit!” snarls the first man, suddenly angry. “Guys, hold him down and gimme his hand, I got an idea.”

CJ’s eyes widen and he tries to scramble away, but his body is in too much pain for him to go anywhere fast. The other two men grab him and subdue him quickly, with one straddling his legs and forcing him onto his stomach and the other holding his left arm out along the ground, leaving his hand open and exposed. CJ keeps whimpering, mouthing pleas for them to stop, but none of them care. The first man laughs, then raises a foot. CJ looks away. The man stomps down on CJ’s delicate fingers.

CJ _howls._

The man does it again, and CJ can hear bones crack under the thud of his foot hitting the ground. He does it a third time, and CJ almost passes out, his vision going white as pain blinds him. He manages to blink his vision back to normal in time to see the man raise his foot for the fourth time. But before he can bring his foot down –

_“Get away from my brother!!”_

The man lowers his foot and turns just in time for RJ’s heavy microphone to hit him square in the nose. He shouts in pain, covering his nose as he stumbles back. RJ runs up, swiping his microphone from the ground before anyone can react. Blood seeps through the man’s fingers.

“What the fuck!?” he yells, voice muffled by his hands, and also by his now-broken nose.

“Leave him _alone!!”_ RJ screams in his face. His features are sharp with anger, eyes bright and glittering with rage. He channels every spooky night he’s ever spent in front of a ouija board trying to summon a demon, approaching the group with movements that are almost jerky, just a little too slow but a little too fast at the same time, like a tape being fast-forwarded and paused every other moment. It does its job in unnerving the group, especially when RJ lifts his microphone like he aims to throw it again.

“Alright, fine, fuck!” shouts the first man, still muffled, “This retard isn’t fucking worth it!”

He runs off down the path, and his friends release CJ to follow him just as quickly. Even with the men gone, CJ doesn’t get up, only continues laying on the ground with his arm outstretched, still weeping, trying not to look at his own crushed fingers.

“CJ,” gasps RJ. The unnatural changes fall away and even his anger dissipates, leaving horror and sadness. He almost immediately starts to cry as he scrambles down to CJ’s level. “CJ, oh CJ…”

CJ manages to sit up with help from RJ, gingerly holding his bad hand and resting it in his lap, biting his lip at the agony every tiny movement causes. RJ hugs CJ tight, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead, trying to comfort him even as he cries, too.

“It’s over, CJ, it’s okay, it’ll be okay,” RJ sobs. He uses one hand to pull his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call BJ, he’ll get PJ and they’ll take us home.”

CJ just closes his eyes, squeezing out tears as he leans against RJ’s chest, weeping into his shoulder. He doesn’t tune into RJ’s conversation with Bim, but it’s barely a minute after the call ends when a telltale poof reaches his ears.

He lifts his head to see Bim running to him, panic sweeping his features, panic that turns to horror when he catches sight of CJ’s hand.

“Oh, Cam,” BJ gasps, crowding close. “You poor thing, poor little guy…”

Wilford approaches them slowly as Bim gathers both Jims into his arms to soothe them. When he speaks, his voice is missing its normal accent.

“Which way did those fellows go, exactly?” His eyes are bright pink.

“Not now, Wil,” Bim says, “Take them home first.”

“Alright, fine,” Wilford sighs, like he knows Bim is right. “But mark my words, they’re not getting away with this.”

After the group is poofed to the clinic, what follows for CJ is a flurry of examinations, of stabilizations, of soothing and shushing and stroking hair, of discussions about hand surgery, aftercare, prognosis. CJ listens to it all in a haze, leans into the comfort he’s given despite hardly feeling it. Eventually he stops crying and everyone’s relieved, though still a bit worried, because CJ won’t even talk to anyone with his good hand.

It’s not just CJ’s broken fingers that have left him silenced. It’s the things those men said and the words they called him, ringing through his mind and drowning out everything else.

**Author's Note:**

> CJ, you poor sweet baby, I'm so sorry for this ;n;
> 
> Also, Wilford definitely went back and had a "friendly chat" with the guys who beat CJ up.


End file.
